


Play Along

by ghermez



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Hirugami Sachirou has many feelings., Hirugami has two pets, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Time Skip, They like Hoshiumi more than they like him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:47:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26252872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghermez/pseuds/ghermez
Summary: Sachirou is in love with his best friend. Hoshiumi: Kourai.orWhat happens when you mix very brief yet very effective fake dating and pining.
Relationships: Hirugami Sachirou/Hoshiumi Kourai
Comments: 24
Kudos: 118





	1. Needing each other.

“Sachirou, you fucking bastard—stop!” Hoshiumi wheezes, batting away Sachirou’s hands, but he’s incessant and good at finding the soft underside of Hoshiumi's belly and tickling it just the right spot. Sachirou discovered this weakness a long time ago and he's made many usages of it in the past. Now, the punishment is his only way of putting his hands on Hoshiumi's body. 

“Sorry, I told you, if you drink any of my beer, I’ll tickle you to the point of no return,” Sachirou replies seriously. Well, he did warn Hoshiumi before he left to the restroom and Hoshiumi ignored his warning, as usual. 

“Wow. You two are seriously flaunting your relationship in our face, aren’t you?”

They both freeze then look up at Hakuba. He looks quite entertained, despite the bitterness in his words. He rests one chin on his palm, his elbow on the table where the national Japan team gathers for dinners on most nights.

“What?” Hoshiumi says. 

Sachirou pulls away, knowing what will come next. Denial and sputtering.

Except Hoshiumi isn’t jumping to shovel Hakuba’s words back into his mouth. Instead, he sits there, eyes impossibly wider and his mouth gaping.

“I mean… you two are very friendly, so I figured… you know.” He sounds unsure now.

“No—”

“Yeah! So what about it?” Hoshiumi’s words cut through Sachirou’s attempt to clear Hakuba’s confusion. But in the process, Hoshiumi spreads ice through Sachirou’s veins. Wait. Did he just...confirm that they’re seeing each other.

Hakuba's eyebrows touch his hairline, clearly impressed with Hoshiumi's candor. "Wow, I was just assuming... I didn't think you had it in you, Hoshi-senpai. Well done."

Hinata is next to speak up, "Wow, a vet boyfriend. Impressive, Hoshiumi-san."

_Ah_. This is all for the sake of Hoshiumi's ego. 

Sachirou keeps quiet, knowing that whatever Hoshiumi has in mind will definitely explode out of him so he prefers not to be at the vanguard of that attack. He pretends his heart isn’t thudding in his chest when Hoshiumi links his left hand with his right. He’s the image of calm— he has had years of pretending to be okay, years to fool Mom, Dad, and both of his older siblings, that he was absolutely fine. But Hoshiumi, the only person to ever look him in the eye and see his struggle, can’t possibly believe his facade.

The hand in his is so warm, unbearably so, and Sachirou delights in this knowledge, in the ability to wrap his fingers around the much smaller palm. He would never tell Hoshiumi about the size difference of their hands because a) he prefers his head on his shoulders and b) it is a knowledge only for him.

"Yeah so you assholes better stop. Not all of us are into PDA."

Ushijima nods. "It's true," he says, although he's got a hand in Sakusa's hair. Sakusa is blushing a storm that no one dares point out. Kageyama looks close to opening his mouth, but thankfully Miya Atsumu comes to the rescue, filling his mouth with rice. 

Then Hoshiumi leans into Sachirou, his mouth moving but Sachirou, while watching, can’t hear anything. He’s far gone, into a world where he can hold Hoshiumi’s hand, feel Hoshiumi’s weight against him, have him whisper in his ear, hot and quick, “I need you to play along.”

Well, if Hoshiumi needs him, then Sachirou needs him back.

Sachirou takes those stupidly big hands of his and wraps Hoshiumi’s waist, committing the second most embarrassing thing he’s ever done in public: he puts Hoshiumi in his lap and nuzzles his neck. Hoshiumi is dangerously quiet, and Sachirou waits for the pretending to cease and the punching to start. Instead, Hoshiumi melts in his arms, and to everyone’s shock — the entire team is watching — he blushes. It’s furious and red and for a bare second, Sachirou thinks: Does he like me back?


	2. Speak the truth for it shall set you free.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sachirou has many anxieties. Hoshiumi: Kourai.

Sachirou holds his breath as he places a palm on the small of Hoshiumi’s back and asks, “Are you staying over?” Sachirou speaks loud enough for Hakuba and Hinata to hear.

Instead, it is Bokuto who wolf-whistles and says, “Whoa! Color me green because I am envious.”

To which Miya pipes up, “Who knew Bokkun knew that expression?”

“I think Akaashi-san taught him that,” says Sakusa in response. And there on, the teammates go on to tease Bokuto for his own remarkable partner. Hoshiumi is quiet all the while, a state so terrifying to observe. Even Sachirou, who has known Hoshiumi for over a decade, feels a strange pooling of dread in his stomach. Is he going to be punished for how he has taken advantage of Hoshiumi’s ruse over dinner? Instead, Hoshiumi simply follows him to the car, saying nothing more than _thank you_ when Sachirou opens the door for him, and _no, thanks_ when Sachirou asks if the AC is too cold.

The silence in the car is eerie. Sachirou eases his foot off the pedal, and the car slows down gradually to a soundless stop outside his building. He looks out of the window, cursing his luck for how his body had gone on autopilot, taking him directly home, without a single regard to Hoshiumi’s wishes.

“I’m sorry. I guess my body is just used to—” Sachirou begins but Hoshiumi cuts him off.

“It’s okay. Are we going in?” Hoshiumi asks, but he’s still not looking at Sachirou, his face is turned towards the window, giving Sachirou the curl of one shoulder. The sight of this position is in of itself very unnerving.

Sachirou turns the engine off, takes out his key, but his stomach is in tangles far too complex to be relaxed by Hoshiumi’s response, so he stays put in his seat and attempts to salvage his friendship with Hoshiumi before his mind works itself sick thinking of how he’s ruined everything between them when he laid hands on Hoshiumi.

“Listen, I know what I’ve done was extremely inappropriate. I took advantage of your position and I am so sorry. Please forgive—”

“Will you shut up?” Hoshiumi cuts him off, again, but his tone isn’t not sharp. It trembles, shaky and Sachirou’s heart drops at the implication that _he_ has done this to Hoshiumi. He’s turned the strongest man he knows onto the path of uncertainty.

Sachirou opens eyes he’d not noticed closing and is surprised at the way Hoshiumi sits in his seat. It’s as if he’s trying to make himself appear even smaller than he normally does by hugging his knees to his chest, his chin resting on one bared knee, and the expression on his face, or what Sachirou can see of it in profile, is so unlike him that Sachirou feels guilt rolling in his stomach like thunder.

“Hoshiumi—”

“It’s not your fault, okay?” Hoshiumi bites. But the very end of his retort wobbles. “It’s all mine. I have this insane inability to stay quiet in response to Gao’s fucking taunting. I just—I hate how he thinks he’s _better_ than me just because he’s two fucking meters tall.”

Sachirou makes a failed attempt at assuring Hoshiumi with, “He’s not—”

“I know!” Hoshiumi throws his hands up, his body unfurling, emotion taking over his limbs. “Have you seen my stats? I’m fucking amazing. I am the best player out there.”

Hoshiumi is huffing a little, his eyes saucers big in his face. This is the Hoshiumi Sachirou knows, and yet his heart refuses to settle. Something _is_ bothering Hoshiumi and this explosive anger isn’t just about Hakuba’s teasing. It’s something else. It could even be Sachirou who has upset him.

“Is it me? Is it what I did that is making you—”

“No, Sachirou. It’s not you,” Hoshiumi says, and the words are soft, like buttercream, coating Sachirou’s anxiety. Yet, he still doesn’t have a precise answer about what they are —or _he_ is—supposed to do now. How is Sachirou supposed to move on from what happened at dinner? How does he behave when he knows the exact weight of Hoshiumi’s ass in his lap? His pants grow uncomfortably tight.

But before he can ask, Hoshiumi drops his feet to the car floor and opens his door. He straightens up, stretches out his arms behind his head, then leans down to peer through the open door to ask, “Are you coming or not?”

Sachirou leaves the car.

Hoshiumi pounds the ground with his footsteps, the open flaps of his jackets blowing behind him due to his speed, and Sachirou has to jog to keep up, but he’s got long legs, and managed to catch up just as Hoshiumi makes it to the elevators in the lobby.

“So, you _are_ staying the night?” Sachirou asks.

Hoshiumi throws him a look over one shoulder as they wait for the elevator. His eyes tether Sachirou to the ceramic flooring under his shoes. “What do you think?”

Sachirou clamps his lips shut because whatever Hoshiumi wants, Sachirou would be more than honored to let him do to him.

Their ascension is quiet ride to the tenth floor, but it isn’t uncomfortable like their car ride . Hoshiumi leans against the wall behind Sachirou, his hands stuffed in his jacket’s pockets, whistling softly under his breath. Sachirou doesn’t know the song but that doesn’t stop him from trying to recall it, but the effort is only making his impatience grow worse. Come on, elevator. You’re usually faster than this, he thinks, glaring at the slow lighting-up numbers over the door. Just how does Hoshiumi look the image of calm when Sachirou has to gather his hands into loose fists just to keep himself from turning and cornering Hoshiumi into the mirrored walls around them and devouring his face. Gah. He can still feel the warmth in his lap from having Hoshiumi sit there, his back plastered to Sachirou’s chest, his ears so red when Sachirou had blown against them. He screws his eyes shut, keeping the image alive behind his lids. He might never get to experience that again. Yet this hopeful beast inside him looks at the way Hoshiumi looks him over, from head to toe, and _hopes_. Prays. Gets on its knees and offers itself a sacrifice for Hoshiumi to make Sachirou’s fantasies come true.

But there is no space for fantasies now. They could simply be spending the night in perfectly platonic camaraderie.

The heavy padding of Kura’s feet is the first thing Sachirou hears when he unlocks his door. Then all fifteen pounds of the Shiba Inu come barreling through the entrance hallway, but at the last second, Kura ignores Sachirou on his knees with his opened arms, swerves, and jumps at Hoshiumi instead. Sachirou gets on his feet, disappointment turning the sides of his mouth, and stands to the side, more than a little betrayed, but he can’t help but be eternally amused by the image Kura and Hoshiumi make. Hoshiumi has his arms full of the happy, wriggling dog, and Kura looks like she’s in ninth heaven, licking Hoshiumi’s chin and yapping, most likely telling him all about her day.

“Hello, sweet girl,” Hoshiumi says, his hand working hard behind her ear and, to Sachirou’s delight, Kura’s tail shakes so fast it looks like it might fall off.

Rather than attempt to call her to him, an action which he knows from past experiences will end in embarrassment for him, Sachirou shifts his attention to the silent cat watching from the corner of the entrance. Shiro, unlike his name, is a black long-haired cat, full of indignation for anyone who isn’t Kura. Shiro sits there and gives Sachirou the kind of look that made Sachirou fall for the six-year-old Persian demon two years ago in the shelter.

Sachirou turns the lights on, toes off his shoes, slipping into his comfy home slippers—yes, the one with the dog ears—and walks to Shiro.

“I’m home, Shiro,” he greets the cat, opens his arms but Shiro gives him a look that screams _Are you kidding me right now? Go fill my water bowl._ So, Sachirou ignores the sounds of the happy dog behind him and heads to the kitchen. Shiro follows quietly.

He goes through the process of changing the water bowls and filling Shiro’s bowl. Kura will need a walk first before eating. Before he can grab the leash, Hoshiumi beats him to it, absently explaining, “I’m taking Kurapika out on her evening walk.” Then the sound of the slamming door.

He doesn’t even get the chance to maybe try and talk about what happened over dinner. Damn.

He looks at Shiro’s slender neck lowered to eat from his bowl. “I bet you didn’t have to deal with your best friend pretending to date you, huh?”

Shiro glares at him in response.

“Right. Sorry.”

* * *

Sachirou is in the bedroom after his shower, putting in a clean pair of sweatpants and a comfortable minty green T-shirt that’s long faded to a sad shade and is two sizes too small for him, when the sound of the door opening draws his attention.

He walks out to find that Shiro has claimed his spot on Sachirou’s ruined couch and doesn’t bother to lift his head.

“Did you leave the door unlocked, Sachirou? Do you realize how dangerous that is?” Hoshiumi rants, walking in behind a cheerful Kura, who immediately makes her way to the kitchen to find her dinner.

Sachirou stands in the middle of his living room and lets the wave of fondness ebb and flow inside him. Hoshiumi takes off his jersey jacket, revealing tanned skin, at the sight of which Sachirou’s mouth waters and his fingers twitch to touch.

“What’s that look about?” Hoshiumi asks, a chuckle in his voice as he walks towards the couch. But Sachirou intercepts him, grabbing a hold of Hoshiumi’s upper arm in one hand. Sachirou looks down at his hand around the muscle, which Hoshiumi works so hard to maintain and strengthen, and notices the way Hoshiumi goes rigid, body held at an angle, as if he wants to twist away from Sachirou.

“Shouldn’t _I_ be asking you that?” And then, before Hoshiumi can answer, Sachirou pelts him with more questions. “And why did you let me touch you like that in the restaurant? Why didn’t you push me away? Do you know what that does to me? What does touching you, holding you, smelling you, do to me?”

He’s breathing hard with every word, face lowering to Hoshiumi’s level, but he sees the jack-rabbiting pounding of Hoshiumi’s pulse so Sachirou lets him go. The last thing Sachirou wants is to see fear in Hoshiumi’s eyes. Not the eyes that only ever looked at him and saw his struggle and offered solace and friendship in terms so open and so accepting that Sachirou knows, deep down, that Hoshiumi would never push him the way Sachirou had been pushed his whole life.

Hoshiumi is a lot like his name. He is a brilliant, incoming light, in which Sachirou has been basking. But Sachirou has been a fraud, pretending to be Hoshiumi’s friend when he’d had heated wet dreams of them intertwined, not a stitch of clothes between them, as if he is still the sixteen-year-old boy who made a mess in his pants that first time he woke up with the vivid impression of Hoshiumi coming in his mouth.

But rather than let Sachirou walk away, Hoshiumi steps up to him, gait light as a dancer’s, but Sachirou keeps retreating, unsure of where else to go until there’s the living room window behind him. The glass is cool against the palms he presses there. He needs to keep them to himself because if Hoshiumi keeps looking at him this way, fire and ice burning in tandem in his eyes, Sachirou won’t be able to help his yearning.

“I didn’t _let_ you do _anything_. I _wanted_ you to touch me. I wanted to sit in your lap. I wanted, okay, Sachirou? I _have_ been wanting for a long _fucking_ time and I went ahead and took it _tonight_.” Sachirou has no idea where to look. Between Hoshiumi’s spitting mouth, his livid eyes, and his shaking body, Sachirou is pinned. Then Hoshiumi raises one hand and presses it to the glass right next to Sachirou’s head and then it’s a literal kind of pinned.

Sachirou gulps noisily and sees Hoshiumi’s eyes follow the movement of his throat.

“You…” Unfortunately for Sachirou, his brain chooses that minute to turn absolutely empty.

Hoshiumi, cruel as he is, keeps watching Sachirou silently, as if waiting for him to gather all of his bravery and spit out _his_ truth. Sachirou turns over Hoshiumi’s words, takes in the bite in every emphasis, and comes out with one word: want. Hoshiumi wanted him.

“Do you still want me?” Sachirou asks, instantly feeling ridiculous for asking. And Hoshiumi’s nostrils widen in a deep breath.

Hoshiumi steps closer, smoothly sliding a thigh between Sachirou’s legs, pressing his free hand to Sachirou’s stomach. Not to Sachirou’s heart to feel the insane rhythm, not to his stiffening dick, but to his stomach, which has grown soft with the lack of exercise. Hoshiumi touches him, and Sachirou’s body burns with want. With need.

“What do you think, Sachirou?” Hoshiumi asks, his breath hot against Sachirou’s chin. Then Hoshiumi is grabbing Sachirou’s neck, his palm feeling so large as it grips, tightens, over his skin. Sachirou’s body shudders, and he shuts his eyes to take in the sensation, then opens them to the sight of Hoshiumi’s searing gaze.

“Prove it,” Sachirou breathes.

Hoshiumi’s smirk is a slash across his handsome face—a face Sachirou loves so fucking much.

“Kiss me, Sachirou,” Hoshiumi whispers, his lips dangerously close.

Yet Sachirou keeps himself still, keeps his lips to himself and says, “No. _You_ kiss _me._ ”

Hoshiumi Kourai has never once stepped back from a challenge in all of the years Sachirou has known him—which isn’t the best course of action on most occasions—so Sachirou should know better than to issue a challenge _now._ Alas, Sachirou has a lot to learn, but for now, he lets himself gasp at the fierce way Hoshiumi slides his lips against his mouth. Hoshiumi’s tongue is so hot it makes Sachirou’s dick leak in his sweatpants. Hoshiumi kisses like he’s playing volleyball; so fucking well and confident, his lips are soft—so soft that Sachirou wonders if Hoshiumi uses lip balm--and his tongue is so swift, scrambling Sachirou’s brain with every flick and seeking lick.

Hoshiumi stops kissing him for a second before Sachirou wraps both arms around Hoshiumi’s neck, tugging him close, chest to chest, until he’s bending over Hoshiumi like a ravenous beast ready to feast, kissing Hoshiumi with everything he has. His hands are full of sparkling white hair, his body jerking against Hoshiumi’s tight, compact body, his hips seek out friction, and his heart hammering in his throat. He kisses Hoshiumi with over a decade of yearning, uncaring and unabashed. He has _wanted_ for so long, and he is too happy to be able to take—no, this isn’t Sachirou taking, but receiving what Hoshiumi is gladly offering.

Before Sachirou knows it, Hoshiumi is pressing him back against the glass, and in a moment of utter giddiness, Sachirou holds onto Hoshiumi’s neck and lets him prop him there. He’s far too gone, too in love to do much but cling and pray to a God he doesn’t believe in that Hoshiumi will latch onto him in return.

“Kourai,” he repeats, over and over, as he kisses Hoshiumi’s mouth, as he kisses Hoshiumi’s cheeks. He cries when Hoshiumi’s hand reaches for his hard dick. There’s relief and prayer coursing through Sachirou when Hoshiumi takes him out, grips tight enough that Sachirou has to shut his eyes and bite down on his lip to stop himself from coming all over Hoshiumi’s hand.

“Sachirou,” Hoshiumi says, the sound low enough, like an earthquake, that it reverberates through Sachirou’s body, shaking him apart, tearing out every screw he’s painstakingly tightened over the box where he keeps his yearning.

“Yes,” Sachirou gasps when Hoshiumi’s hand twists over the head of his dick. “Uh,” he sighs when that stubborn thumb toys with his slit and smears his precome all over his length. “Fuck—” he grunts, right into the delicate skin of Hoshiumi’s ear shell, then he sees, through hazy eyes, that it’s a pretty, red ear, so he wraps his lips around Hoshiumi’s earlobe and bites.

It might be Hoshiumi who is pulling Sachirou apart, but Sachirou still delights in the way he can make Hoshiumi drag him to the couch, throwing him there, then get on his knees in front of it.

Sachirou can’t get a word out before Hoshiumi pulls Sachirou’s sweatpants low around his thighs and Hoshiumi’s mouth swallows all of Sachirou’s sense, Sachirou’s words, Sachirou’s dick. He’s a mess of strangled moans and choked out praise for Hoshiumi’s mouth, gripping a cushion with one hand and trying to find purchase in Hoshiumi’s hair but it’s too short for proper gripping.

Hoshiumi’s hand finds Sachirou’s seeking one and he twines his fingers, his eyes burning Sachirou down when he looks up at him. Hoshiumi looks stunning especially with a mouth full of Sachirou, and he wants to prolong this but he can’t help his orgasm.

Sachirou gives Hoshiumi a warning whine, a breathless, “I’m close—I’m coming,” but Hoshiumi’s hand curls tightly over Sachirou’s hip and he swallows around Sachirou, sending him to the very edge to topple over, breathless and disoriented.

Sachirou is gasping, head thrown back, cheek wet with his sweat, when Hoshiumi rises on his knees, places one by each side of Sachirou’s hips, and says, “Do you need further proof that I want you?”

Sachirou’s eyes swim with affection, and he reaches out with both hands to grip Hoshiumi’s red cheeks. He holds him like that for a minute, simply letting himself take in all of what conspired between them. Hoshiumi’s eyes flutter, and his lashes are short against his cheeks.

Hoshiumi turns his head in Sachirou’s grip and says, his lips moving against Sachirou’s sweaty palm, “I never pretended, Sachirou. I might have had a part of me that was a little bit, and I mean really _teensy,_ was worried you might not want me back.”

Overwhelmed, Sachirou sits up and grazes his lips across Hoshiumi’s, watching as those eyes squeeze close, then open to watch him. They kiss like that, watching one another’s reactions, entangled in a world of their own, until the scratching sound of furious nails across the side of the couch startles them both.

“Fucking—” Sachirou bites out when he realizes it’s none other than his cat from hell.

He breaks away from Hoshiumi’s mouth to glare at the cat but Shiro looks utterly for taking a shit right in the middle of the living room. Thankfully, Sachirou’s floors are hardwood which makes clean-up an easy enough task, but if he doesn’t move fast, Kura will come along and smear it _everywhere._ That means he has to ignore Hoshiumi’s loud cackle, pick him off his lap—it’s just such an so unfortunate and so untimely disturbance—and hurry, hiking up his pants with one hand and reaching for tissues with the other, to clean up Shiro’s revenge. He tries to get most of it off, while Hoshiumi helps by holding Kura back, distracting her with a squeaky toy he must have found under a cushion. Sachirou’s apartment teems with toys from every corner.

Sachirou is ninety-five percent sure he got most of the shit with tissues, but he’s still unsure whether he should grab a sponge and scrub the floor to get the stench out before it settled not or if he should leave it till tomorrow.

He looks back at Hoshiumi on the couch, and it seems like Kura has given up on the toy and instead preens at Hoshiumi’s attention. Hoshiumi has one hand in her fur, rubbing behind her ear and another moving across her belly. He seems totally absorbed too, because Sachirou has already gotten rid of the sponge in the trash, furiously washed his hands, and tried to reprimand Shiro before Hoshiumi notices.

“Oh, that was quick. Good job.” Hoshiumi offers Sachirou a fist bump.

No. That will not do at all.

“I don’t want that,” Sachirou mumbles, pushing it away.

Hoshiumi’s eyes widen when Sachirou does a crap job—pun seriously unintended—of mimicking Hoshiumi’s earlier move. He places one knee next to Hoshiumi’s right thigh, but when he moves the other knee, Kura lets out a loud yap, as if knowing that Sachirou is planning to dislodge her from her precious spot next to Hoshiumi.

Sachirou is suspended mid-move, unsure how to proceed, when Hoshiumi places one hand on his thigh, his fingers fluttering across Sachirou’s skin briefly then he says, “Let’s take this to the bedroom, yeah?”

Nervous energy takes control of Sachirou’s body. He pulls Hoshiumi off the couch with one hand while ignoring the little chuckle coming from Hoshiumi. Let him see how desperate Sachirou is. That’s the least of his concerns. All he knows is that he needs Hoshiumi in his bed, in his life, forever, and if tonight seals whatever is between them into something indestructible, then he wants to be as desperate as necessary.

Once the door is closed, Sachirou turns and pushes Hoshiumi against the door. Hoshiumi is still giving him that smug look as Sachirou wastes no time and tugs at the bottom of his uniform T-shirt but Hoshiumi doesn’t stop Sachirou from slipping it right off and throwing it to wherever the fuck it goes. Instead, Hoshiumi stands with his legs slightly spread and his arms relaxed by his side, the knowing look in Hoshiumi’s eyes turning Sachirou wild with need. Sachirou slides down to his knees with every bit of fluidity he still retains and wonders briefly if _that_ is how he looked when Hoshiumi got between _his_ legs.

Because if he did, then Sachirou can’t blame Hoshiumi’s punishing speed. Sachirou has lightning shooting through his veins, hurrying him, begging him to get his hands and mouth on Hoshiumi.

He wastes no time dilly-dallying. He knows what he wants. He wants Hoshiumi naked. So, he curls his fingers in the waistband of Hoshiumi’s shorts and pulls it and his underwear down.

Sachirou’s mouth waters so much he has to lean back and simply swallow. He’s never put a cock in his mouth. He has sucked several toys, though something tells him it isn’t the same.

“Kourai,” Sachirou says, sounding parched even to his own ears. “I…I’ve never done this before,” he admits.

Hoshiumi’s eyes shine, and his nostrils flare on the deep breath he takes. He slides his thumb across Sachirou’s face, slowly taking it from one high cheekbone to the other, to the bridge of Sachirou’s nose, flicking against his chin, then dipping right between Sachirou’s parted lips.

Hoshiumi groans a quick, “Fuck,” as Sachirou sucks that digit into his mouth. Sachirou closes his eyes and lets his tongue move against it, laving at the callus at the pad.

“Keep doing that,” Hoshiumi says, and his voice comes out so thick and deep that Sachirou’s spent dick twitches between his legs. Sachirou sighs, moans a little when Hoshiumi grips his cock and places the head right at Sachirou’s lower lip, next to his thumb. “Use your tongue.” Then, when Sachirou laps at the head of his cock and Hoshiumi’s nostrils flare, he says, “More. Get messy with it, Sachirou, do whatever the fuck you want. It’s yours. _I’m_ yours.”

And what Sachirou wants is so make Hoshiumi—no, this is Kourai. He wants _Kourai_ to keep looking at him like this. So, he takes a deep breath and, gripping Kourai’s thighs with both hands, Sachirou relaxes his jaw, opening it wider with every centimetre of cock he takes between his lips. The taste is so foreign and yet comforting. This is Kourai, Sachirou thinks, and his eyes nearly flutter close. The pleasure swimming through his head is overwhelming him for a bare second before he begins moving over Hoshiumi’s cock, licking without a care for how the drool in his mouth pools and then drips down his chin, how the sound of squelching and panting fill his head to the point of oblivion.

Sachirou doesn’t care.

Because right now, Kourai’s eyes are screwed shut, so taken by his pleasure that he grips Sachirou’s hair between his fingers, hips shuddering and cock pulsating on Sachirou’s tongue. When a burst of taste explodes in Sachirou’s mouth, he does his best to keep breathing and swallows.

“Fuck—Sachirou—” Kourai is choked up, yet his grip on Sachirou’s head is gentle, his fingers are caressing Sachirou’s jaw, his lips, his cheekbones, threading through Sachirou’s hair, and then easing him away.

Sachirou can’t believe the whine leaving his throat at having to stop sucking dick. “Sorry,” Kourai murmurs. “I’m a little sensitive after I come, baby.”

The pet-name rolls off his tongue in English, a little accented, but it’s so sweet and despite the fact that Sachirou has just had Kourai’s cock in his mouth, his face warms up.

“Come here,” Sachirou whispers, tugging Kourai down to his level, and now they’re both on their knees. Sachirou doesn’t care, however, for the cool floor under him, he just needs Kourai in kissing distance. Before he seals their lips, he asks, “Did I do well”

Kourai kisses him and that, to Sachirou, is the perfect answer.

* * *

They’re wrapped up in sheets, dog hair, and limbs much, much later into the night. Kourai is snoring softly against Sachirou’s back—he insisted on being the big spoon, something about wanting to prove to Sachirou that he has his back. It was all too romantic for Sachirou to form much of an objection, really, so he let him. Matter of fact, he’d been too astonished at where they ended up after such an outrageously dreamy night to have any other reaction besides relief.

“Sachirou,” Kourai mumbles now, and Sachirou turns around in Hoshiumi’s arms, enjoying the tight hold a little too much, and kisses Kourai’s cheeks until his brilliant eyes blink open. He’s a little bleary but that’s fine. Sachirou just has one tiny question.

“Hey,” Sachirou says. “So… Do you like _like_ me?”

Kourai blinks once, twice, then says, “I do. Now please let me sleep. I have to kick Gao’s ass in the morning.”

Gladly, Sachirou turns so his ass is back to being nestled in Kourai’s lap, and his back is wrapped up in one, handsome young man, with whom Sachirou is madly in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there it is. I tried my best in portraying Hirugami as a desperately in love kind of guy and I might be off-base here but I think I did an okay job. Let me know what you think~

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on twitter as [@kuroosauce](https://twitter.com/kuroosauce)


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